The Ballad of Schmooples
by Natmonkey
Summary: An unlikely hero embarks on a mission that has very slim chances of success. Will he succeed anyway? Probably. But how?
1. Introduction

_Welcome to my latest festival of WTF. After the _Poor Schmooples_ story, **Carchs** and I were talking about this. It simply had to be done.  
_

* * *

**Introduction**

And so it is done. The archdemon has been defeated, Ferelden has a new king and everyone is about to part ways. Our hero will fondly remember the nights he spent snuggled up to his beloved Leliana, that wonderful, wonderful woman, but soon she will return to Orlais to do her good works for the Chantry. There won't be much spare time in her schedule for her dearest friend. Where does that leave him? It leaves him free to do his own duty. He will miss her and no doubt she will miss him too, but this must be done. He has already kissed her goodbye as she sleeps peacefully; had he been able to, he would have left her a note. Sadly, our hero can neither read nor write. Off he goes, to fulfil his destiny. _Goodbye, dearest Leliana. I will always love you._

Who might our hero be? His name is Schmooples and he is a nug on a mission.


	2. Dust Yourself Off and Try Again

_The search for allies begins!_

* * *

**Dust Yourself Off and Try Again**

During his travels through Ferelden, our unlikely protagonist has thought long and hard about allies he might gain for his task. Who better to start with than the mabari? That filthy dwarf-beast has always been bothering him about pulling a chariot or some such rot like that and Schmooples knows that his canine patience is wearing thin. "Hey, Maul, got a moment?" Nervously he fidgets before the powerful animal that could eat him up in one gulp if he were ever so inclined.

Maul opens one eye. "What's up, buttercup?" He lets out a loud yawn. "I've got a lot of relaxing to catch up on, you know, so keep it brief." An orange glow plays on his sleek fur as he stretches luxuriously. The rug in front of the fireplace is his favourite spot. The mabari couldn't be chased away from there with a hot poker.

"Uhm…" Schmooples thinks of small talk he might begin with, to gather some courage. "So how about the Wardens breaking up, huh? Isn't that sad?" The nug had never thought it possible for the pair to fall out the way they had. They were so attached to one another.

Maul scoffs. "Yeah, I guess it is, but they will get back together eventually." He scratches the back of his neck with his hind foot. "Mark my words: my so-called master can't live without his bitch and neither can that bitch without my so-called master." Irreverent as always. That which humans refer to as imprinting holds true for most mabari, but not for Maul. For all his opportunism, Maul might as well be human. The woman who had originally saved him hadn't made it into the Grey Wardens, so he latched on to the other two instead. There wasn't really anywhere else to go at the time. "But you haven't woken me up just to talk about this little tragedy, have you? Go on, get to the point; this relaxing isn't going to do itself."

"Yes, all right." The dog's attitude doesn't bode well; the crusade against the dwarves won't allow for a whole lot of relaxing. "It's a matter of some urgency." Schmooples explains his plans and is greeted with sneering barks.

"What's a harmless critter like you going to do against all those dwarves?" Maul shakes with laughter. "Are you going to squeak them to death?" He snorts loudly. "Oh, that is rich…"

_Humph_. "Sure, be that way. You'll see; I will raise an army and make a nation of vegetarians out of those foul runts!" They shall feed on turnips, roots and herbs, never to bother a nug again. It shall be glorious.

"All right." The dog shakes his head, still snickering under his breath. "Best of luck with that. Who knows, you might just pull it off." After circling his rug a few times – weird habit – he gets comfortable once more. "I wouldn't go with you, even if I thought it was a good idea." His tongue lolls out of his mouth as Maul begins panting happily. "The king has rounded me up a bunch of bitches to mate with." Now he's even drooling. "I am single-handedly going to repopulate the royal kennels, how about that?" He closes his eyes, massive head resting on his paws. "Now shoo! I'm going to need my energy."

Sigh. That's a no for the dog then. Not a very encouraging start to his quest. Still, Schmooples knows better than to stand between a hound and his harem.


	3. Age of the Nug: Origins

_A word of advice: don't drink while reading this. Not sure if it's that funny, but just in case._

* * *

**Age of the Nug: Origins**

Onwards then, back to his home under the ground. The surface is not a good place for a nug: the light is so bright, he can hardly keep his eyes open. Even here there are too many dwarves chasing after him with drool on their chins and knives in their grubby hands. As Schmooples travels to where it all began, he thinks fondly of the good days. The good days before the dwarves came and took away all that he loved.

Schmooples hasn't always been Schmooples, of course. Once upon a time he was Nugson, son of Nugg, next in line for the throne of Nugzammar. He had a pair younger brothers, Nuggy and Nugster. Those two, identical twins, had practically been joined at the hip. Where Nuggy went, Nugster soon followed after. And vice versa. The king and queen were just and benevolent rulers, although they could be strict if the situation called for it. Nugson knew all about that, being their eldest.

One fateful day Prince Nugson had left the kingdom to play around in an underground pool – the coolness of the water was a wonderful, rare thing amid all the lava and heat – only to return to chaos and slaughter. The palace was in shambles; thankfully, their loyal subjects had scampered away in time to avoid certain death. They had scattered to the four winds. King Nugson and his twin sons had been carried off, presumably to be eaten. Only his dear mother, Queen Nuggira, had managed to hide herself. Sadly she had been mortally wounded and died in the arms of her only living son.

Nugson had given his family a decent burial and was just contemplating what to do next, when that thrice-cursed dwarf came and stuck him in a sack. That was the end, he thought. Imagine his surprise then, when he was presented to that sweet human lady, who named him Schmooples and hugged him and petted him and promised to love him forever. And yet he was determined not to like her. Under her kindness and care, however, the nug soon pulled himself out of his deep pit of despair. Leliana had made him feel at peace. Safe. Loved. Then that disgusting _Oghren_ character had to sit there and eat a fellow nug right before his eyes. It was only a baby too. Schmooples, once Prince Nugson, vowed to take revenge on the creatures that had ruined his life and destroyed his kingdom.

He has carefully plotted and thought out his plans. The dog has already fallen through. Shame. There are other options, however. Although the kingdom of Nugzammar and the republic of Bownamnug have never been the best of friends, Schmooples is confident that the threat of the dwarves will unite them. Bownamnug has not been discovered by those creatures yet, but it is only a matter of time. Perhaps on the way, he might locate some of his former subjects and draft them into his cause.

That is about as far as Schmooples' plans go. It's not as if he has a convenient set of treaties like the Grey Wardens did. Schmooples looks around. Ugh, still so far to go and dusk is already setting in. He finds himself a large bush with soft leaves to hide in for the night.

"Go away," a little voice suddenly speaks. "This is my house. Go find your own."

"I don't see your name on it," our intrepid hero retorts. "Surely we can share." It's true that there are other bushes around, but this is the one the nug has his heart set on.

A thick twig is thrust out; if Schmooples were able to read, he would see the words THIS BUSH PROPERTY OF TONY THE HAMSTER crudely carved into its surface. "Look again, buster. _Mine_."

"I don't care!" Schmooples understands that this must be his rival's name – which looks extremely long – and hides his shame at being illiterate beneath an outburst of toddler-like rage. He stamps his hind leg. "Let me in!" His voice has taken on a decidedly higher pitch. This bush is far superior to the others. Its leaves are bigger, a deeper green, softer. He must have it. And so he simply thrusts his head between the leaves; his adversary isn't at all what he had expected.

A round rodent, thick grey fur streaked with white, shakes a tiny fist at him. "Hey! _What's the big idea?_ I have paid the rights to own this bush, damn it!"

Schmooples gasps. "Oh my Nug, you are adorable!" If he weren't such a manly, manly nug, he would have squealed like a little human girl.

"I _know_." The little creature glares at him. "It's the bane of my existence. Now scram!" Suddenly he tilts his head to the side and gives Schmooples a curious look. "Wait. What are you?" He taps his little pink nose with a clawed finger. "Not a rabbit, surely."

"No, I'm a nug." Schmooples can't help but admire the grey rodent's intelligence. Almost everybody else has dismissed him as a hairless rabbit. "What are you?"

"A hamster, very popular as a pet for human children." The hamster blinks his beady black eyes in obvious puzzlement. "What are you doing here? Don't you guys live underground?"

The nug chuckles. "Well, it's all a very long story."

"Ooh, I love stories!" The hamster claps his paws together. "Tell you what: you may stay here, if you tell me your story. My name is Tony, by the way."

"I'm Schmooples."

Tony laughs a squeaky little laugh. "That's cute."

Schmooples sighs as he nestles himself between the soft leaves. So comfortable. "I know."


	4. Tragic Backstories

**Tragic Backstories**

"This one time I made him fall face-first into a big rock." Schmooples smacks his fist against the palm of his other paw. "Blood shot from his nose like a fountain! He still didn't die, though."

"Dwarves are tough," says Tony, nodding his furry head in understanding. "Waging war against them is going to be quite the task for you. Got a plan?"

Our intrepid hero hums in contemplation. "Yes. Well, sort of." Raise army, defeat dwarves. How much more of a plan does he need?

"Sort of is not going to cut it." The hamster scratches his chin. "You will need allies, resources, plans of action, back-up plans. Maybe even weapons."

"Weapons?" Schmooples laughs incredulously. "How am I going to yield a weapon?"

"It doesn't have to be a sword or something," says Tony with a barely repressed giggle. "I once knew someone whose farts could kill after she'd drunk milk or eaten cheese." He snorts, then giggles again and before long, the little rodent has fallen off the branch he was perched on. The laughter continues on the ground. "Oh, man… Good times. It's such a shame she is dead now."

The nug shoots his companion a half curious and half pitying look. "Do you have a tragic backstory too?"

"Well, it's no Euripides or anything. And I'm technically not even supposed to be in this universe, so I guess the writer is completely flouting the rules of coherence and consistency," Tony twitters as he climbs back up. Schmooples has no idea what that little beast is talking about. "We lived a normal enough life. Fell in love, moved in together. She got pregnant like this," he snaps his fingers. "The closer she came to delivery though, the weirder she got." In a gesture that Schmooples finds infinitely amusing, Tony scratches behind his ear with his hind foot. It reminds him of the dog he could have had in his army. "She went crazy when the little ones had finally arrived." Ominous silence. "She ate them all."

"_Ate_ them?" Schmooples is horrified. "By all the nugs that are holy! Why? How? _When did this happen_?"

Tony rolls his beady eyes. "I don't know why! It's been known to happen to hamster moms." He shoots his companion an exasperated look. "And what do you mean, how? How do _you_ eat, huh? It happened last week." Showing off his orange teeth, the hamster yawns loudly. "Then she tried to go after me. I think you can figure out the result."

"How are you not mad with grief?" The nug can't wrap his brain around it. To lose all of one's loved ones to such insanity in one fell swoop and keep so cool. It boggles the mind.

"I just don't do that." Tony stares at the leafy ceiling with a pensive gaze. "Perhaps that is madness in itself." He quickly snaps himself out of it. "In any case, you are going to need a plan if you want to succeed. I think I can help." The hamster blinks his eyes; suddenly it looks as if he is very tired. "It's too late now, though. We'll work out a plan tomorrow." Yawn. "Goodnight, Schmooples."

"Goodnight, Tony."

* * *

_If you're a regular reader, you'll understand Tony's talk about coherence and consistency. Whatever to that and to that fourth wall thing. Tony is a constant in every universe._


	5. Snoring up a Storm

**Snoring up a Storm**

While Tony snores up a storm, Schmooples can't sleep. His thoughts keep returning to his old life with Leliana and the Wardens; he wonders whether he shouldn't have stayed with her after all. Knowing Leliana, she would still have made time for her little friend. Ah, well, he can't go back now. Those dwarves must pay. Revenge shall be his. The two Grey Wardens would have made excellent additions to his army; such a shame they're too unintelligent to understand him. Schmooples shakes his head. They're not even bright enough to understand that they really need each other.

Sometimes, while wandering about camp, the nug would find those two necking behind some tree or other. It was such an endearing sight with the way they would whisper sweet words in each other's ears. Then one went against the wishes of the other and that was that. No more secretive kisses, just icy glares. Funny how that goes. Schmooples hopes that Maul is right about them. They deserve to be perfectly, sickeningly happy together. Especially after all that fuss with the Blight.

It would have made such a lovely story: the bastard prince and his thief, overcoming their differences and falling in love after many trials and tribulations. Fit for a romance novel, that. Schmooples doesn't know exactly what went wrong between them, but he does know it has something to do with their witchy companion. Morrigan. He doesn't hate her; he doesn't really like her either. She was a bit weird with her way of speaking and walking around half-naked, but it's a free world. Maul, on the other hand, hated her with a passion burning like a thousand suns. The nug turns even pinker at the thought of the words the dog would use to describe her. Not at all fit for a Teen rating.

The terms Maul used to describe their elven companion were less unkind, though nowhere near friendly. Schmooples never saw much in that Zevran character, but he never paid any attention to the nug anyway. Neither did the golem; she was apparently a dwarf at some point in her existence – Schmooples never could wrap his head around this – though her desire to eat nug must have left her centuries ago. If only all dwarves could be like that. Or like the old lady mage, who would sometimes give him a friendly pat on the head or a bit of vegetable off her plate. Or even like the two Grey Wardens, who hardly acknowledged his presence. Anything better than those bloodthirsty leers the filthy dwarf would sometimes shoot him. A shame Schmooples didn't get to end his runty life.

The giant! Now him Schmooples was quite fond of. Under his exterior of steely manliness, Sten could be a great big doting fool. Our hero trembles with joy, thinking of the way the Qunari would pet him and give him treats, even say really nice things to him. Rather like humans tend to talk to their small children. Leliana had caught Sten while picking flowers and playing with some lucky kitten; imagine if she had seen them cuddling? He would never have lived that down. Ah, sweet memories.

Tony's snoring abruptly stops. "Natty?" he mumbles, a shudder going through his body. "Natty? No, don't…" The hamster utters shrieks of various pitches and tones; they all have abject fear in common. Perhaps he is more affected by the loss of his family than he seems to be. Schmooples' heart breaks at the pitiful sight. He reaches over and softly scratches his new friend between the ears. The shrieks quickly stop – the snoring begins anew. Schmooples sighs. Such terrible ordeals he and his fellow creatures are being put through. Tony's family dead and gone, his own family dead and gone. There is no way of knowing what has happened to the citizens of Nugzammar after their flight, but no doubt it's not been easy for them. Wouldn't it be great if all nugs could stand united against their common enemy? After the dwarves, who knows, they might go after those wretched deepstalkers. They too hunt the nugs, though nowhere near as enthusiastically as the dwarves.

The hamster is right. How is he going to manage all this? With Tony's help, of course. The rodent seems very smart and knowledgeable. He even knows about some fancy thing called a Euripides, whatever that may be. Yes, they shall make their plans tomorrow. Schmooples closes his eyes, lulled to sleep by the constant sound of squeaky hamsterly snoring.


	6. Shut Up and Listen

**Shut Up and Listen**

"The _deepstalkers_?" Schmooples gawps at Tony in utter disbelief. "Are you out of your furry little mind?"

The hamster giggles. "Well, yes, hadn't we already established that?" He insistently presses his paw – the one not smeared with ink – on the battle plan he has drawn up so far, a collection of jumbled lines that make zero sense to the nug. Schmooples will be damned if he admits to being illiterate, however. "But think about it. The dwarves also hunt them, so they would be more than happy to be rid of them too."

"Sure, fine." Our hero must admit that his companion has a point. "You're forgetting one thing: deepstalkers also eat _us_," he retorts triumphantly. "They will kill me on sight and there is nothing I can do against that."

Tony taps a claw against his temple, leaving a black splotch. "Of course I had thought of that, silly." Once again he dips his paw in his tiny inkwell; this time he draws a nug on the parchment. "See, Natty was really big on myth and legend and stuff, yes? She told me a fascinating story once." His black eyes blink up at Schmooples, his whiskers twitching. "Have you ever heard of, dun, dun, _dunnnn_… Nugzilla?" Tony really likes his sound effects.

"Nugzilla?" Schmooples incredulously repeats the name. "Of course! It's just a silly old bedtime story." His mother would sometimes scare him and his brothers by telling them how Nugzilla would squish them under his giant butt if they were naughty. They had been naughty plenty of times; either Nugzilla isn't real, or he has better things to do than going around squishing naughty nuglets.

Tony vehemently shakes his head, his body quivering. Tightly he squeezes his eyes shut. After a while he opens them again, but it's as if a different hamster is standing there. Tony, but not Tony at all. The expression, the posture: they're all different. "If I may interject," he says, the tone and intonation of his voice subtly but unmistakably altered. "There is a core of truth to every myth and Nugzilla's is no different."

"Tony?" Schmooples asks hesitantly, wary of the bizarre development. "Are you all right?"

The hamster laughs; the sound is decidedly less squeaky than before. "Oh, Tony isn't here at the moment." The eyes normally twinkling with mirth shoot him a serious look. "I'm Natty." Another laugh at the nug's shocked gasp. "Yes, the crazy, child-eating wife. How do you do?"

"Please tell me you're pulling my paw." Schmooples needs this crazy business like he needs to be gutted and roasted on a spit.

"Sorry, no." Natty shrugs. "I just couldn't leave my little guy all by himself," she says, affection in their shared voice. "And he's not the best storyteller. Now then, let me tell you all I know about Nugzilla, all right?" Without even waiting for an answer, the hamster dives into the inkwell again. "What the heck has he done with my pens?" she mutters under her breath. "When the Maker was done creating the world and most of its inhabitants, He became quite bored." With both hands, Natty scribbles on the parchment. An indeterminate blob is sitting on a throne, its pose one of distinct boredom. "The Maker decided He needed a friend, one that was loyal and pleasant to be around, but would not shed its fur all about the place." A nug appears next to the throne, looking up at the blob in adoration. "And so Nugzilla was born, sweet, loyal and hairless."

The nuggy protagonist draws her attention by waving his paw. He would rather not touch her; what if she goes berserk again and tries to eat him? That is, if Tony hasn't just gone stark raving mad with grief after all. "How do you know all this?" Nevertheless, the story is an interesting one.

"This is all in the Chant," she replies, eyebrows knitted at the interruption. "The Canticle of Bunny-Pigs." Giggle. "Just kidding, there is no such thing." Unexpectedly, she slams her tiny fists on the plan, making the branches shake. "Now shut up and listen! Questions afterwards; understood?" Her glare is icy enough to make the temperature drop several degrees.

Schmooples gulps. "Yes, ma'am."

* * *

_Any of this sound familiar? What do you mean, yes? This is so totally original and shizz. It can never have been done before.  
_


	7. In the Beginning, There Was Nugzilla

**In the Beginning, There Was Nugzilla**

Did he really think the Nugzilla story was interesting? Fascinating is what it is. Schmooples listens in awe and enthrallment as he finds out how Nugzilla was banished to the bowels of the earth after leaving dirty puddles on the Maker's carpet a few times too many. To comfort His former pet, He gave him the power to create nugs in his image from the very fabric of the earth itself and imbue them with life. At first Nugzilla felt sad to be away from his creator, but this quickly faded. Since creating his descendants in his own size as well as in his own image would be an enormous pain in the backside – this would require lots and lots of clay per nug – the father of all nugs satisfied himself by having his children only reach up to his knee.

The birth of the new nugs was a wonderful thing to behold: the clay had only just dried, or the whiskers would begin to twitch, the noses to snuffle and the new-borns would snuggle up to their beloved parent. Happiness was Nugzilla's once more as he and his children lived quietly side by side. Then a curious development took place: whenever spring had sprung on the surface, the nugs would scamper off in pairs and hide themselves behind a rock or other to perform certain secret doings. In a few months' time, little nugs would appear as if by magic.

The descendants of Nugzilla became more and more independent. Over the centuries they learned how to build homes, how to find food for themselves, how to look after one another. Nugzilla saw this and concluded it was time for him to leave them to it. So he retired deep, deep into the earth, far beyond what the dwarves call the Deep Roads. "And there he still lives now," Natty finishes the story.

"Shouldn't he be dead?" This supposedly happened thousands of years ago, so Schmooples doesn't hold out a lot of hope that this legend still lives. "And how much of this isn't complete nonsense?"

Natty shrugs. "Like his creator, Nugzilla is immortal. I wouldn't know how much of this is true. All of it? None of it?" She leaves a black streak between her ears as she lays a hand there. "Maybe he's just a remnant from when everything was larger than it is now. How the heck should I know?" More ink to blacken the little paws. "More importantly, where will you find him? Because I doubt that without his help, you could even talk to those deepstalkers." The hamster shakes her head. "Leave it to Tony to make up such a daring plan," she chuckles. "Make your way past the Anvil of the Void." The map she scribbles on the plan is easy for Schmooples to understand, thankfully. "Don't pay any attention to the broken golems there; they have absolutely no use for you. There will be a secret passage here," an X goes on the map, "Through which you will reach Nugzilla's resting place. Needless to say, there will be danger aplenty." She suddenly fixes her eyes on her companion, their gaze piercing. Tony has a much nicer look about him. "You can't read, can you?"

Schmooples gasps. "How did you know?" It's as if she reads minds.

"Because I can read your mind." Natty cuts the beginnings of shocked ramblings off with a resolute hand gesture. "Look, I better go, but being illiterate is nothing to be ashamed of. Tony will be more than happy to help you." She nods enthusiastically. "Teaching others is totally his thing. Don't tell him about me, all right?" With a sigh, she waves the nug goodbye. "Good luck, Schmooples." Winking: "I'll be around." And so the beady black eyes roll back in the little fuzzy head, the round body quivering violently. "Oh, man…" Tony is Tony again. "I feel a little faint. What happened?"

"Well, you'd just told me Nugzilla's story and how to find him, then I told you I can't read or write and you suddenly passed out," Schmooples lies expertly. Natty is right not to want her 'little guy' to know about her lingering presence; there is no telling what it might do to him. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I guess." The hamster shakes his head. "Whew. Well, I could teach you how to read and write. Let's start with reading." After having thoroughly wiped his paws on a leaf, the rodent dives into a pile of wood shavings to emerge with a book at least twice as big as he is. "Natty loved this one," he says affectionately. The cover is brightly coloured and features a dog that looks like a squat, wrinkly mabari. "Let me explain a few things first: the modern common alphabet consists of twenty-six letters and they look like this…"

* * *

_Shit just got really silly._


	8. Eat More Elfroot

**Eat More Elfroot**

"So now that you know the alphabet, why don't you tell me what the title is?" Tony holds the book up to his student, who is hesitating at the daunting task of reading his very first words. "Come on," he urges the nug. "Nothing to be scared of."

"Fee-yar-… Uhm... No, Fearless... In... Low-vee... Love. Fearless in love," Schmooples slowly reads. Tony claps his paws together and praises his companion's intelligence. Schmooples swells with pride. Still, despite his rapid progress, he knows they really need a montage.

_A little while later: _

This story is hilarious! And those drawings, aw... They are just so beautiful and colourful. No wonder Natty was so fond of the book. Schmooples giggles at Fearless, the loveable dog from the cover, and his strange ideas. "...Even if it got a bit chewed and covered in puppy dribble it still tasted lovely." The nug is feeling more and more confident about his reading skills.

_Another while later: _

"Mrs. Jones' big black knapsack just seemed to hate him." Hahahaaaa... How could a knapsack possibly hate a dog? Silly Fearless. Knapsacks don't have feelings. Or do they? The writer is making a strong case for them somehow. Schmooples has decided that he loves the book too. "Fearless hid behind the tree trunk, just in case it was another knapsack." What an adorable doofus.

_Aaaand another while later:_

His paws sweaty with excitement, our hero accidentally lets the book slip from his grasp. "Oops."

"What are you doing?" shrieks Tony, all distress and worry. "It's the only thing I have left of her!"

Schmooples climbs down to where he dropped the precious item, praying to the holy nugs that it is unharmed. He emerges shortly, precariously balancing the book on his head. Getting teeth marks in it won't make Tony particularly happy, he guesses. "No harm done. I'm sorry I dropped it."

The hamster releases a relieved breath. "I'm sorry I overreacted like that," he mumbles ruefully.

"That's all right." Schmooples gives his little friend a pat on the back and continues reading.

_Yet another while later: _

"It was called Primrose," Schmooples concludes. So ends the story of Fearless and his discovery of the true meaning of love. The nug is sad the book wasn't longer.

Tony applauds like a rabid rodent on drugs, then sticks his little fingers in his mouth to produce a sharp, screeching whistle. "Woo! You're a quick learner." Suddenly, his stomach rumbles with the force of a minor earthquake. "Whew, I think we deserve a break after all this. How about some lunch?" The hamster digs around in a dingy cabinet that he calls a "fridge" - another one of his big words - and emerges with two armfuls of elfroot. "Here we are." Having dumped half of the bounty at Schmooples' feet, he begins contently gnawing on a medicinal root.

Our hero is painfully aware of his hunger; he is drawn to the elfroot, even though he knows he shouldn't. His mother warned him never, ever to touch the stuff. Still, the growling of his belly will not be denied. Schmooples snarfs some of it down, fearing the worst. Hm. The taste isn't half bad, if a bit bitter. Nothing seems to happen. Tony is kind enough to bring his friend some more of the stuff, which Schmooples eats more slowly. He is really savouring the flavour. It's much tastier than the dirt and filthy mushrooms he used to eat underground, though not better than sharing Leliana's dinner.

But then... Uh oh. Schmooples' intestines twist with intense agony. Try as he might, our intrepid protagonist cannot hold it back: round, rock-hard pellets shoot from his butt with intense force. Where they hit a leaf, they go straight through and leave a perfectly neat hole. A few twigs break under the onslaught. So that's what his mother was so afraid of.

"Holy hamster wheels!" Tony's ears are pricked up in alarm. "What the heck was that?" Schmooples doesn't answer him, but scrunches up his face in a pained expression and releases another volley of nug-bullets. The rodent's beady eyes light up like candles. He folds his arms before his chest and nods contently. "I think we've found our weapon."

Schmooples sighs, finally relieved of his tummy ache. "Does that mean...?"

"Yep!" Tony giggles and claps his hands. "It's another montage!"

* * *

_Book fragments lovingly stolen from _Fearless in Love_ by Colin Thompson and Sarah Davis, which is only the best (children's) book ever. I had to call Mrs. Jones' handbag a knapsack, because I don't think they've discovered handbags yet in Dragon Age. Even if they have, this isn't Orlais, you know.  
_


	9. Perfectly Normal for a Weirdo

**Perfectly Normal for a Weirdo**

"Ready? Aim. Fire!" At Tony's command, Schmooples aims his bullets at a cluster of deathroot plants in the distance and utterly destroys them. Sure, this secret weapon is really hurting his belly – not to mention his butt – but at least now he's not completely harmless anymore. The hamster nods. "Very good. I think we're done here." He looks proudly at his pupil.

Our hero sighs in relief. "Wonderful. I'm glad we didn't do the montage, by the way."

"Me too." Tony looks at the sky and yells: "You can't have two montages in a row! It just isn't done!"

"Who are you talking to?" Schmooples wonders aloud. Sometimes this little animal is so weird. "You were the one who was so happy about having another montage."

The hamster shrugs. "Yes, but then I changed my mind." He addresses the sky again: "Because having two in a row is just one too many! Stupid Natmonkey."

"Have I told you lately that you're kind of weird?" says the nug affectionately. It's precisely the reason he is so fond of his new friend. He's not even going to spend a single moment wondering what exactly a Natmonkey is. Could there be any link with the monkey creatures the Qunari and the golem were discussing? He hopes not. Those beasts throw their own faeces around. Ew.

"Weird? Me?" Tony gasps in mock indignation. "How dare you, ser! I'll have you know I'm perfectly normal for a weirdo." He giggles. "So, what's the plan now?"

Schmooples takes a look at Tony's battle plans, which are now perfectly legible to him. "I should get to Bownamnug and try to speak to the president, see if he can help me."

"We will have to pick all the elfroot we come across," says the hamster sagely. "Those dwarves will never know what hit them."

"We?" Schmooples beams. "Does this mean you're coming with me?" This epic quest is getting better and better. Our unlikely protagonist simply assumed their ways would part after Tony had drawn up the plans and taught him how to read, but could he possibly hope for more? More would be nice. They could talk and Tony could offer more advice. His first ally. Not exactly what he had expected. Not a fierce mabari, or a giant-sized nug. Still awesome. "Please say yes."

"Duh." Tony laughs. "You still need to learn how to write." From his pile of wood shavings, he takes a large, empty knapsack. Schmooples half expects the thing to glare at him. "I'll go pack my things."

"I could write Leliana a letter then!" Schmooples imagines the tears in her eyes as she reads the letter her pet has written her about his adventures and about how much he misses her. He hopes she is doing well without him.

His hamsterly friend sticks his head out of his storage area. "Do you think she's going to believe you were the one who wrote that?" He dives back in, making all sorts of racket.

"Huh, I hadn't thought about that." The nug now imagines Leliana asking all her humanoid friends who has played this silly prank on her. "I bet she'll believe it if I bring it to her myself." She will pick him up for a good cuddle and then he will nestle himself into her soft nug-pillows once more. Of course he knows they are officially called "breasts", but of the Grey Warden party, Schmooples is the only one to have ever spent entire nights with his head resting between those squishy globes. Oh, how he misses his personal nug-pillows.

"Done!" Tony's knapsack is bulging with Nugzilla-knows-what and he is dragging a spherical object behind him. "Could you carry this for me, though? I'm going to have all of my paws full."

Schmooples shoots a curious look at the ball-like thing. "Sure. What's that?"

"This is a hamster ball." The rodent carefully lowers himself to the ground, ball and all, and opens the hatch it turns out to have. "I won't be able to keep up with you otherwise." Tony goes inside the transparent orb and neatly closes the door behind him. "Ready?"

Having hoisted the overstuffed knapsack – which thankfully isn't heavy – onto his back, Schmooples nods. "Let's get this epic quest of revenge on the road!"


	10. The Gates of Bownamnug

_Like the Great Gate of Kiev, only funnier._

* * *

**The Gates of Bownamnug**

"Big wheel keep on turnin'," Tony sings, hopelessly out of tune. "Leg muscles keep on burnin'. Rollin', rollin', rollin' in my hamster ball!" After several hours of bizarre lyrics and off-key tunes, Schmooples is happy to be close to the Gates of Bownamnug. He was afraid to descend underground, not being used to the darkness anymore, but both he and Tony have a sense of smell good enough to find their way around. Schmooples rather misses the sight of his little friend running in that ball, though; it has to be the most adorable thing he has ever seen. Suddenly, a loud _thunk_. "Guess we're here," says Tony, shaking his head after his little crash. "Oof."

"Yep." The nug looks around. How are they going to get in there? "Hello?"

A small window opens; light comes pouring out. "Password?" says an unknown nug, his eyes peering out at the visitors.

"Huh? Since when do you need a password to get into Bownamnug?" Schmooples is beginning to fret already. "I didn't even know! Is something wrong? Oh no, let me guess… There has been an attack or trouble of sorts and now the country is on lockdown!" Stuff like this was always happening to the Grey Wardens too. They just had the worst luck.

The unknown nug snorts and giggles. "I'm sorry…" He bursts out laughing. "I couldn't resist. You should've seen your face!" His face disappears from sight; perhaps he is rolling over the floor, laughing his tail off. "Oh, man…"

"Enough of this nonsense!" Tony shrieks in rage. "Let us in, motherless dwarf-humper!" Schmooples nearly chokes with laughter at this remark.

"Who said that?" The gatekeeper appears at the window again. "It's not my fault you tourists can't find the proper entrance," he says defensively. "And now you're calling me names? I could have you arrested for insulting a civil servant!"

Our hero instantly stops laughing. "I apologize for my friend." He gives Tony's vehicle a light kick, eliciting an indignant squeak. "Could you maybe tell us where to find the real entrance, please?"

"Go around the corner on your right," grumbles the civil servant. "Can't miss it." With that, he slams the little window shut. Schmooples can still hear him grousing about "those bloody tourists."

"I would prefer it if you kept any further kicking urges in check." Tony rolls on next to Schmooples as they make their way to the proper entrance. "I could've rolled all the way back to Denerim, darn it. Do you know-…" The sight in front of him cuts off the hamster's angry rant.

And there it is: the proper entrance to the Gates of Bownamnug. Great braziers light the way; a constant stream of nugs is going in and out of the gates. "How could we have missed this?" mumbles Schmooples, overcome with awe.

Tony bumps his means of transport against his friend's ankle. "Enough googly-eyed staring. How are we going to get to the president?" He rubs his chin. "I actually hadn't thought of that yet. This isn't just your average nug we need to see…" Various thinking sounds bounce around the walls of the hamster ball.

"I have a plan." Schmooples' whiskers twitch. "Follow me."


End file.
